Circe looks up at Benji and then, realizing she has invaded his space, takes a few steps back. She nods in understanding as he speaks, and then looks back once more at the bed. She returns her attention to him and says,
"Yeah, OK, a walk might do me some good." The nurse protests, saying,
"Wait a minute, we have a missing psych patient here! She's been committed! We can't let you just walk out of here! You might have helped the patient escape!" Circe grows angry and steps toward the nurse. She points at the scattered papers on the table nearby and shouts,
"I hadn't signed the stupid commitment papers yet, OK? So no, I didn't help her 'escape'. She probably just walked out, ok‽ I'll take care of her." She pushes past the nurse into the hallway.
Assuming Benji follows, Circe whispers to him when he joins her,
"I definitely did NOT let her walk out... I swear. Benji, what is going on? She is really sick and I'm scared."
Meanwhile, somewhere else...
Persephone awakens to find herself staring up at a ceiling composed of concrete tiles, with cold indirect light illuminating it. She looks around and finds herself in a small, austere space, with polished concrete floors and high walls that glow with cold light. More significant, however, are the endless patterns of complex runes and sigils painted carefully on every square inch of wall; the paint is most likely blood. There is a single large black executive desk nearby, with a high-backed executive chair behind it, but the back is turned to her. She looks down and sees herself in a hospital gown, with red marks on her wrists and ankles, as if she had been struggling against restraints. Her head is foggy, as of she had been drugged, but she also feels as if she has been jolted awake somehow, possibly by the administration of a strong stimulant. She sits up, shivering, as the room can't be more than 50 degrees F (10 C).
The chair turns and Wentworth sits there, hands tented. He speaks, his voice recognizably his, but somehow deeper, more... feral? No, more dangerous; rather than drip with contempt, his every word is a threat.
"Miss Zhang. Good. Our time is limited, so I shall be brief. Do pay attention. I have had you removed from your captivity at the behest of our patron, so that you might continue to serve Them. From now on, however, I shall be assigning you additional tasks, ones that might seem to ... undermine our Patron's goals. I had considered giving you these assignments as if from our Patron, but you are too clever and would have discerned the truth eventually. So instead, I shall make you complicit and force your cooperation. You shall be assisting me in, shall we say, going Independent. I have tired of serving our Patron and have made other arrangements, which I have taken great pains to hide. And now you are implicated in them as well, so our Patron shall believe you have been involved from the start of your time with us, and you shall suffer eternal torment alongside me, should my plan be discovered. All of which is to say, do not attempt to inform our Patron or fail in the tasks I give you, or... well. We need not dwell on the consequences. Take this phone and await my orders." He slides an old Nokia phone across his desk. It is black with byzantine carvings of sigils and runes all over it, with the faintest hint of blood in the bottoms of each deep groove.
He stands and says,
"I can only stretch your millisecond of teleportation time so long--so I shall send you now to your condo, where our Patron expects you to appear. For They are Always Watching, my dear. You shall find that all records of your hospitalization and impending psychiatric commitment have been expunged, the nurses and doctors involved reassigned, and your neighbor, a witness to your collapse, given a story about an allergic reaction. Now, begone and await my orders, or suffer."
Suddenly, Wentworth's strange Nokia phone is in her hand. She looks back up and, for a moment, Wentworth's image flickers, revealing something...else. And suddenly she is wrenched out of this strange pocket of space and thrown back into the stream of things, only to find herself once again lying on a minimalist sofa and looking up at tasteful, indirect lighting -- but this time in her condo.
She sits up and vomits as her stomach churns from the experience.
[ +- ] Wentworth's Secret Office